Years Later

Many years after leaving London I return to the city it is still dreaming of better days. I am burdened with landscaped memories, recordings taken with out-of-date electronics; one is a Betamax video player, the other by a VHS machine, next a DVD that has no space for recollections. An elderly Vauxhall Astra follows me like an ever faithful dog. The metropolis is built on the brick-dust of era’s, The young look dazed, as if worm-holes in the River Thames had closed leaving them stranded here. I imagine that nightly, an older populace hang upside-down from bell-tower rafters to dream of Imperial Lions. I have recorded the trip on that clunky Betamax; only I have the arcane skills to operate it. Back in Ohio I store London in its original box, then make my way downstairs to photograph my wife with a once brand new polaroid camera.